


(In)Formal

by TheMadKatter13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Study in Pink, Alpha!Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal, Anal Sex, Arguing, Arranged Marriage, Art, BAMF!John, Biting, Bonding, Bottom!Sherlock, Claiming, Dirty Talk, Embedded Images, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Graphic, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Insecure!Sherlock, M/M, Mating, Mounting, Omega!John, Omegaverse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Public Claiming, Scenting, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Smut, Taunting, Teasing, Threatening, Topping from the Bottom, Virgin!Sherlock, bottom!John, sorta - Freeform, top!John, top!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:06:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1692707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadKatter13/pseuds/TheMadKatter13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'The Holmes clan would like to formally extend an offer of courtship on behalf of their Alpha son, Sherlock SW Holmes, to the Watson clan's Omega son, John H Watson.'</p><p>That was all that had been in the matching envelope John had been handed half an hour ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stationery by [Bell’Invito](http://www.bellinvito.com/5-x-7-buzz-social-notes.html#.U3HRe_ldWCp) with Scriptina font added via Paint.

[ ](http://themadkatter13fanfiction.tumblr.com/post/91733550928)

_The Holmes clan would like to formally extend an offer of courtship on behalf of their Alpha son, Sherlock SW Holmes, to the Watson clan's Omega son, John H Watson._

That was all that had been in the matching envelope John had been handed half an hour ago. The woman who'd hand-delivered it, a smartly-dressed beta with a Blackberry attached to her hand, had been accosted by his father seconds later to be force-fed tea and biscuits, giving John the chance to escape up to his room to process the momentousness of what he’d been presented. He knew his dad had done it on purpose and it was one of many reasons he was thankful for the beta.

As far as things went, arranged marriages and courtship proposals weren't as common now as they had been in the past, but they weren't exactly uncommon either. And they were only ever formed between families with equivalent social and economic standing. In fact, right after presenting as an omega, dad had convinced mum to enter John into one with a well-off family and their slightly older alpha son. But then again, that had been before mum died, and before John had broken off the engagement. But this arrangement, this proposal, there was no question to the wealth gap. There wouldn't have been one even if mum hadn't died either. So why were they interested in _him_? For fuck's sake, the stationery in his hands felt more expensive than the laptop on his desk.

His laptop... Maybe he could look this alpha up? He preferred to spend his time outdoors and he still tended toward paper and pen when it came to his schoolwork, so it was a slow, but steady, process to peck in 'Sherlock SW Holmes'. But as soon as he did, the results that popped up tugged at the corners of his mouth and kept pulling with each one he opened. What had emerged from his search was a plethora of mating announcements, announcing 'Alpha Sherlock SW Holmes's esteemed mating to the beautiful, wealthy Omega [...]', each with a different omega's name. But that wasn't all that was turned out. For each mating announcement, there was an announcement of that bond being broken less than two weeks later. There was four years worth of it all.

Emotion was building in a slow burn in his heart: anger that this alpha had yet to be arrested for doing something not just illegal but also unthinkably heinous, and horror that the Holmes family wanted for him to be the next reject. He didn't realise his jaw and hands were clenched painfully tight until an arm wrapped around his waist and his computer was slid from one lap to another. Harry was quiet for a long moment as she scanned through the pages John had opened. At last, she let out a deep sigh, closed both browser and computer, and put it on the bed behind them.

"You know how bad off we've been since mum died," she started, voice soft and arm delivering a comforting squeeze to his middle. "But dad and I aren't going to force you into this, especially if that prick isn't right for you. We're just asking that you at least give meeting him a go."

"Yeah," he said after a minute of silent contemplation. “Yeah, okay.”

**.oOo.**

If the stationery hadn’t been quite enough to make the differences between their families clear, the hotel his family had been instructed to did. Even in their finest, the Watsons were still shabbier than the doorman, and the decor in the top floor’s hallway had to be more expensive than all of their wardrobes combined. John's hand was steady but his palms were damp and he wiped them on his trouser legs before raising a fist to rap sharply on the door directed by the concierge. His father and sister were comforting presences flanking him as the door opened to reveal the same beta who’d delivered the proposal. The same Blackberry as before was still just as attached to her hand as she led them into the sitting room where he was greeted with the sight of an alpha male and omega female around his father’s age, a beta male with an umbrella around Harry’s age, and a stupidly gorgeous alpha male who looked about his age... and also looked to be in the midst of a massive, childish sulk. All four of them were dressed in suits just as fancy, or fancier, than those they’d passed in the lobby. John had never felt more out of his league.

“Hello, John, how are you today?” the omega woman greeted, warm, polite smile gracing her beautiful face. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips before he could answer.

“Uh, good, ta. You?” He didn’t really know where to look. Should he be eyeing the alpha he suspected was Sherlock? Or did this clearly traditional family expect him to keep keep his head down? Well, he was fine with doing the former, but if they expected the latter, they had another thing coming.

“I am also well, thank you. And this must be your sister, Harriet, and your father, James?” John didn't bother correcting her that his sister prefered 'Harry' and that dad prefered 'Jim'; this woman couldn't get more formal if she tried. Harry and dad smiled Watson-polite at her, murmuring greetings as they nodded, and they both received the same warm smile from the woman.

“It’s lovely to meet you all. This is my alpha, Sigger, my eldest son, Mycroft, and my youngest, Sherlock.” The older alpha and the beta nodded their greetings politely enough, but the younger alpha pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, glaring. John blinked in surprise. Sherlock couldn’t have been more clear that he didn’t want to be here if he’d just shouted it. Was there more to those articles than what he saw? Or did the alpha just take offense to his family's choice in a poor, plain-looking omega like John? “Sherlock, don’t be rude. Go greet John. Properly.” John almost smiled at the hard edge on the command, and he was sure it would have been worded more threateningly had the two been in private.

The alpha stood suddenly, the grace of the movement and his unexpected height sparking the smallest embers of attraction in John's belly. And he _was_ (distractingly) attractive: dark curly hair, intelligent grey eyes, high sharp cheekbones, all long lines and slim muscle, pleasantly unlike the beefhead alphas he’s more accustomed to seeing. Harry and dad sidled away from him to sit on the sofa opposite the other Holmes as the alpha approached, John doing nothing to meet him halfway, even going as far as raising his chin challengingly; he hadn’t forgotten the research he’d done. The action earned a raised eyebrow from each of the seated Holmeses and Watsons and a look of sudden interest from the approaching alpha rather than the annoyance John had anticipated. It was... pleasantly abnormal.

Neither of them said a word to each other when Sherlock stopped a hair's breadth from him, just simply spent a moment sizing one another up. This close, the slimness he'd found attractive a moment ago he began to find a bit more concerning with the realisation that the other looked underweight for someone of his height. The rest of him was even more impressive and intense at this range, those eyes bright and focused, pupils unusually small in a way that made him frown suspiciously. But fuck, he was beautiful; beautiful in the kind of way that made John, normally a confident bloke, feel self-conscious about his looks.

By now, Sherlock should have bent his head to scent John and to allow John to scent him in return but he was still just staring and it made the omega want to fidget. He held still for no other reason than pure stubbornness to not reveal any weakness. He knew a predator when he saw one.

"Sherlock Holmes, you will scent your guest properly and you will not say a word." The snapped words made John blink in surprise at what had previously seemed to be a mild-mannered omega. The look on her face was tense, and he remembered again the announcements he'd come across. His own face tightened at the memory and he wondered what kind of trouble her son had caused her throughout all of this. Sherlock's head tilted, eyes becoming more intense as if he could suss out the cause for John's sudden shift in mood.

Knowing it was going to get done before he left, whether either of them liked it or not, he swiftly unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt and shifted it to expose his neck. This part always made him nervous, having a strange alpha's teeth that close to his scent gland, even when he knew it was a biological fact that a bond could only be laid during intercourse. When Sherlock failed to follow suit, John didn't bother trying to stop the annoyed sigh as he reached up to undo the alpha's top buttons for him, shifting the shirt and suit jacket to fully expose the long pale neck that made his mouth dry. Grey eyes searched his for a long moment before that dark curly head finally bent down and a nose pressed against his scent gland. It was about dame ti--

He let out an involuntary moan as Sherlock's position forced John's nose to the alpha's scent gland, and he accidentally, and quite unpreparedly, took a deep whiff straight from the source. There were a great deal of archaic traditions still in play nowadays, and while John wanted most of them abolished, scenting on the first date was one he approved of. Scenting ensured compatibility: if your mate didn't like how you smelled, the less likely it was that the bond would stick, much less the pregnancy; more than that, the more your mate liked your scent, the larger and more frequent the litters you would carry and birth. And Jesus Christ, if he smelled to Sherlock anything like how Sherlock smelled to him, then he could end up with massive litters, and a lot of them. Fucking hell, he'd never smelled any better scent in his life, and even Sherlock was still running the tip of his nose up and down John’s neck like he couldn’t stop. Still, even if they were 100% compatible on both ends, he had words that needed saying. Slowly, discreetly, he broke away from that perfect scent and stood on his toes as he tilted his neck and chin so that his lips were pressed against the curve of a delicate ear in a butterfly's kiss and the other man stopped scenting him immediately.

"I've looked you up, Sherlock Holmes," he whispered, "and if what the papers are writing about you are true, if you plan on treating me the same way, you will regret it. Immensely. I am not rubbish and I will not be treated as such. Do you understand me?" In the split second it took for John to drop back to his heels, a burst of alpha arousal hit the still air of the hotel room and the room's other occupants, his family and Sherlock's, were on their feet in seconds, eager to remove him from what smelled like an alpha diving towards feral. As soon as someone took a step forward though, two arms, stronger than they looked but not as strong as they should have been, wrapped tightly around him and the alpha growled at anyone who attempted to get closer, pupils sluggishly struggling between constricted and dilated.

"I never!" Violet gasped, expression one of shock as her son snarled at her. "Sherlock has never reacted this way before!" John had had a hypothesis growing in the back of his mind ever since the alpha currently wrapped around him had first stepped into his personal space. With no small amount of effort, John managed to dislodge one arm enough to roll up the sleeve past the elbow.

There weren't track marks in the crook of Sherlock's elbow. There was _a_ track mark. Just one. But it had seen frequent use. And it had seen recent use. His lip curled in disgust as his body went rigid in the snarling alpha's arms. Suddenly, the feral alpha quieted, attention drawn from the potential threats by his omega's abrupt change in demeanour. His arms loosened and his hands moved to John's hips, stroking lightly as he made a questioning sound and tilted his head in clear puzzlement. Just as that curly head dropped down a second time, cold fury made him numb and John stepped away from the long-fingers and the pretty face and swung his hand. 

_SLAP_

Sherlock’s head snapped to the side with the motion and red bloomed across the pale skin in the wake of John’s palm. Before anyone could do anything else, John had a bony wrist enclosed in his fingers and he twisted it painfully, turning the alpha’s back to his chest and bending the elbow, forcing the captured hand up between just-as-bony shoulder blades.

"Shower?" he inquired softly, tone no indication of the utter anger and betrayal he felt because of this proposed-to-be-his alpha. Sherlock's brother was watching him with knowing approval, but Sherlock's parents and his own family just looked shocked and confused. The beta woman appeared again to point him to his request and, silently, he marched the idiot right into the beautifully tiled stall and promptly turned it on, temperature: arctic. The cat-like way the man in his grasp responded to the water, hissing and spitting, would have been funny in any other situation, but all of John's patience had evaporated in the face of his discovery and he shoved the alpha to the floor, forcing him to endure the spray.

"I am beyond insulted that you felt the need to get high just to meet me," he said, trying his best to keep emotion from his voice. Sherlock stopped struggling at his words and pulled up to his chest, his one free arm wrapping around them as he dropped his head to his knees, not unlike like how he’d attempted to sulk on the sofa a few moments ago, but John had the impression he was actually being listened to. "But I told Harry and dad I'd make an effort. So if you're still interested in... this, us, then get sober before you call on me again." Quite finished with the situation for the moment, he released the taller man and walked out of the toilet. Behind him, as he saw in his peripheral when he turned the corner, Sherlock was still where he left him, a drenched ball of shamed alpha. 

The two older Holmeses were pictures of class as they sipped tea with their other son, but their body lines were tense and they started when John emerged from the hallway.

"Thank you for having me," he said without stopping his direct path towards the door.

"What happened, Johnny?" Harry called as he opened the door. He bit his tongue to keep back a scathing report as he passed over the threshold and kept going. Behind him, he could hear Harry cursing as her and dad scrambled after him.

The ride home, seemingly in the same limo with the same driver that had picked them up only a short hour ago, was thankfully quiet. John kept his head turned towards the window the entire time, and when they arrived home, he was the first inside, striding purposefully for his room and locking the door once inside before throwing himself face first on his bed.

John had never before had such mixed feelings. On anything. On one hand, there was not wanting an alpha in the first place, nor wanting a junkie for one if he took an alpha, and those announcements were incredibly concerning. On the other, he'd be blind if he didn't find the alpha attractive, he'd definitely smelled compatible, they really hadn't gotten a chance to get to know one another, _and_ , possibly most importantly, John had first-hand experience of being on the wrong end of a story told by an unhappy twat twisting the facts. He honestly knew nothing about Sherlock from Sherlock, and it was that more than anything that helped him decide to give the alpha a second chance. If he even wanted it.


	2. Chapter 2

He had never been so _bored_. Eighteen days. Eighteen days since he had last experienced the relief of cocaine. Eighteen days since he had met the newest omega his parents and brother had attempted to foist on him. Eighteen days since that omega took him by surprise with his strength and will and his accurate analysis of the symptoms Sherlock had been exhibiting that he'd been high. Eighteen days since he'd discovered someone who interested him for longer than five minutes. Eighteen days since Sherlock Holmes had met John Watson.

His meddling family had been trying to get him to mate and breed since he'd presented as an alpha four years ago at sixteen. They'd make agreements with other families, put out announcements, and put him in front of the omega a few days later. His parents would threaten to take away his equipment and bin his experiments, and Mycroft would threaten to have him barred from working cases with NSY, if he refused to scent the omega presented to him. So he would, making the process as short as possible because he could never stand the way they smelled. The few omegas who were quick enough to scent him back couldn't stand him either.

Two months ago, the last omega of their own and the closest acceptable social and economic classes had been rejected. Sherlock had breathed a sigh of relief; finally he could attend to The Work in peace. Nineteen days ago, he'd been told, by Mycroft no less, that an omega had been found for him and that he would be meeting that omega the next morning. So, the next morning, he'd shot up and sulked the entire ride to the hotel and all the way until the omega's arrival. When the family had been led in by Anthea, he'd been surprised at what had obviously been Mycroft's choice, an unexpected deviation from his parents always having picked the omega in the past.

The mother, an male omega, had clearly died some years past, and while the family may have once been well enough off, they were struggling now. The omega himself had been handsome enough but not really in the traditional sense. It shone through in the way he held himself, the way he hid his nerves and soldiered through the situation. At that point, Sherlock's sulk became an act, intrigued by an omega who didn't appear to exist solely to be mated to an alpha. When he'd been commanded to scent John, he took his time, excited by the other man not making any effort to meet him, even more unlike the other omegas he'd met.

Then he’d scented him and had felt the alpha rising. He'd never smelled anything that _good_ before, and his nose had been in more places than he could count (more because he'd deleted scents and locations than anything else). And then John had whispered in his ear, threatening words said with conviction, and he was lost to his primal side. If he wanted any omega, it was that: one who would be an equal rather than a willing slave, and John certainly seemed to be that. Had he been sober, he never would have lost control, but he wasn't so he did. And somehow, John had knew that he was high, had _slapped_ him, before manhandling him into the shower to sober up. Then he had been given a choice: the cocaine, or a chance to try again. Eighteen days later, Sherlock had yet to make a decision. True, he had been ignoring the chemical's siren call this entire time, longer than he usually would, but he hadn't yet contacted John either. He had never wanted an omega, and yet John had shown more promise than most people he’d met, much less most all omegas he’d met, and that was promise he did not desire wasting..

His mobile vibrating in his pocket pulled him from his mind palace and, at the text's contents, he closed the door to the tiny room in his mind palace labeled 'John Watson' as he sprung from the sofa. He applied coat and scarf as he flew down the stairs, pecking Mrs Hudson on the cheek as he passed in a flurry out to the kerb to wave down a taxi. Thirty-one minutes later, he was striding through Loughborough Park towards a body dressed in an alarming shade of pink, pleased at how much quicker living at this new flat made his arrivals at crime scenes.

After trading near-ritualistic insults with Donovan and Anderson, intercepted as always by a disapproving Lestrade, Sherlock snorted at the silver-haired alpha’s authoritative attempts towards him before proceeded to investigate the body littered with clues it seemed only he could detect. When he stood to check the weather with his phone, a scent from outside the crime scene did the improbable and snapped his mind from The Work, subtly demanding all of his attention. It was a recent addition to his Scent and Odour Index, very recent. Eighteen days, in fact, and it had apparently embedded itself deeper than he'd realised. Inappropriately and quite unwelcome, arousal stirred.

The alpha scanned the crowd around the police tape and spotted the omega to which the scent belonged. For all intents and purposes, it looked as if John Watson had been walking by the park, clothes indicative of being worn two days in a row. Perhaps he had slept over at a friend's. Irrationally, possessiveness welled at the thought of the omega sleeping with anyone else, whether it be in the metaphorical or the literal sense. Roughly smothering the feeling, he strode purposefully towards John whose eyes widened as if startled by being the sudden focus of Sherlock's attention. As he neared his destination, it occurred to him that John was at his _work_. It also occurred to him that John and his pre-medical degree could come in handy. Last of all, it occurred to him that, should he take a mate, that mate would need to accept The Work. And if John couldn't stomach The Work, then that would be that, no matter how attached his primal side was to the other’s scent. Sherlock decidedly ignored the strange swoop in his stomach at the thought.

As the people in front of John shifted away from the alpha's obvious point of intended arrival, the omega once again displayed his casual stubbornness, falling into, oddly enough, parade rest. Had John's mother been in the military or had he himself planned on joining before Mycroft had interfered? If the latter, was he still intending to go, whether this mating worked or not? He was already enrolled in medical school, something Sherlock had suspected from the drug usage diagnosis, but the actual deduction of which had been ruined when his brother decided to inform him of that fact in an absolute non-sequitur on their way home from the hotel (an indiscretion he had promptly gotten revenge for by ordering the servants to cover every flat surface in Fatcroft's room with as many confectionary treats as they could think of).

"John," Sherlock said holding up the tape and standing in a way that made it clear an invitation to join him was being made. The omega's eyes widened when he spoke and traces of arousal flitted against his nose and the alpha realised he hadn't spoke once in their previous encounter. He'd been told before that he had a striking voice and he'd used it to his advantage in the past, but he hadn't expected it to impact strong, stubborn John. John who was still standing just feet from him. The crime scene's other onlookers were now looking between them as if waiting for something momentous to occur. They would be disappointed.

"Sherlock," John finally replied as he stepped forward, ducking fractionally under the raised tape before Sherlock dropped it, keeping the other onlookers at bay. On instinct, the alpha dropped his head to scent his omega, who dodged out of reach with a hard look. Sherlock straightened with a snap, all emotion washing automatically from his face at the rejection. Stupid. Utterly stupid. John wasn't _his_.

As he went to turn away, a hand grasped his wrist, firm but not painful, just like when he'd been manhandled into the shower. Tampering down on the second fluttering of arousal at the memory, he turned to look at the shorter man with an expectantly-raised eyebrow. Blue eyes darted pointedly from his eyes down to the crook of his elbow and then back, and understanding flooded through the dense genius. John _had_ said to get sober before he called on the omega again, and just now, approaching John and calling out to him, that counted. The omega's face was tense and wary, expecting an answer that meant rejection, whether it be a lie or not. For the first time in a long time, he didn't want the person expecting something from him to be disappointed. For the first time in a long time, Sherlock told the truth to someone expecting the opposite. 

"Eighteen days," he said, voice quiet. There was a pause, as if the omega was having trouble processing what he'd said. Then, the brightness that suddenly infused John's eyes, and the warm smile that tentatively slid across his his lips, made a strange warmth spread through Sherlock's chest.

**.oOo.**

John's heart was pounding wildly in his chest, his nerves were singing with adrenaline, and he had never been happier with life. He'd just spent the last hour in a mad chase with an equally mad alpha over rooftops and across both busy streets and empty ones, through London in pursuit of a cab, only for the lead to turn out a bust. Then it was another mad dash through the city, though this time, it was a dash of laughter and exhilaration and _fun_. They hadn't stopped until they'd arrived in the foyer of a building marked with a '221' on its green front door. Nearly simultaneously, they collapsed against the wall next to the stairs in breathless laughter.

"That was..." he gasped, face and stomach almost sore with how much he was grinning and laughing. "That was the maddest thing I've ever done." The maddest, yes, but also the most brilliant. He turned to look at Sherlock and his nearly-calmed heart stuttered at the bright, open smile on the usually closed-off alpha's face. The same alpha who he'd spent the last several hours with, being dazzled by his intelligence as well as his beauty, digging through skips for abandoned evidence with, having a stake-out at a lovely Italian restaurant whose enamoured owner caused him to blush repeatedly with his frequent references of their meal being a 'date'. He was having a hard time reconciling the apparent junkie he'd met two and a half weeks ago with the electrically-alive genius at his side, and he had begun to wonder why someone this brilliant even needed drugs with a life like the one he led.

The laughter died down slowly and John became excruciatingly aware of the alpha at his side, the one whose bright grey eyes he couldn’t break free from. He cleared his throat roughly and jerked his gaze free, his cheeks feeling hot as he brushed a hand through his hair and licked his lips.

“I haven’t been home in two days and they’re probably wondering where I am,” he said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. He was loathe to leave, but dad and Harry were the type to worry, especially after what happened to mum. Sherlock was silent and John’s eyes darted up from under his eyelashes, feeling suddenly worried that he’d offended the alpha that he may or may not already be falling for. But how could he not? Just being around Sherlock was like being sucked into a storm, one of whipcrack deductions rather than lightning and of sweeping coat tails rather than thunder. Both surprisingly and comfortingly, the look on the other man’s face was one of contemplation.

“There’s a spare bedroom upstairs,” Sherlock offered slowly, voice quiet and wary, like he was as unwilling for them to part as John was but still unsure if John actually wanted to stay. “And if you’d like to use my mobile to call your family...” The smartphone he’d seen sporadically all day made a sudden appearance, the way it was casually held out to him doing nothing to offset the abrupt heaviness of the air. It wasn’t even a decision.

“Thank you,” he said warmly, reaching out for the mobile and running the pad of his thumb lightly along the one holding the phone. So close and yet so far from him, Sherlock’s pupils dilated and John swallowed as the detective licked his lips, breath starting to come out in short pants. Seeing the nervous arousal on the normally confident, composed alpha was too endearing and John had to smile or threaten to have his heart burst in his chest. “Lead the way,” he said, gesturing towards the stairs. Sherlock snapped upright and John suddenly realised how close the alpha's face had gotten to his, like they'd been gravitating towards each other in anticipation of a kiss. The detective was already bounding up the stairs, and John, smiling softly as he dialed his dad's number, followed wordlessly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor use of transcript by [Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan](http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/43794.html).

John felt wonderfully warm and comfortable when he woke up and he stretched luxuriously on the soft bed before relaxing back into the fresh-smelling sheets. If this was Sherlock’s spare bed, he could only imagine what the alpha’s actual bed felt like.

His eyes snapped opened. No, he really shouldn’t be imagining what Sherlock’s actual bed felt like because then he would begin to imagine _why_ he would be in that bed in the first place. Alone in the guest bedroom, the omega flushed as he palmed his cock, already hard from dreams he couldn’t remember but could only guess featured a certain curly-haired alpha sleeping the floor below him. A sudden noise on the stairs outside his room was the only warning he got before the door flung wide open and he jerked up, using the sheets to hide his erection. He had expected Sherlock to walk in, already familiar with the man’s complete lack of care of personal space, or maybe even the polite and elderly beta woman who’d brought them tea as biscuits the previous night, claiming she was the landlady, not Sherlock’s housekeeper. Instead, a familiar dark-skinned woman stood in the threshold, blinking at him in surprise.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she exclaimed. If being startled in such a way hadn’t been enough to make him go soft, the rude and surprised way she posed her question and the way it reminded him of meeting the alpha at the crime scene yesterday and the insulting nickname she referred to Sherlock by, was.

“Sleeping,” he replied, all easy-going morning calm evaporated by her attitude and her intrusion into his temporary room. He threw back his sheets and stood from the bed suddenly, a bit of perverted smugness sparking at the way her eyes darted down to the fact that he wore only shorts before they darted away, her cheeks darkening. “What are _you_ doing here?” he returned easily as he drew on yesterday’s (and the day before’s) jeans, vest, shirt, and jumper.

“Drugs bust,” she finally said, voice snooty like she was smug about the reason why she was there. John arched an eyebrow, somehow doubting that that was _really_ the reason for the woman’s presence, even if he himself knew Sherlock had a past with recreational substances. Before he could say anything further, there was a shout from downstairs.

“John!” The call was immediately succeeded by the sound of feet pounding up stairs and Sherlock appeared a moment later in lounge pants, a baggy t-shirt, and an loose blue robe left untied. His hair was an absolute mess and it only served to endear John further. In his suits, Sherlock was breathtakingly gorgeous; in his lounge clothes, he was heart-burstingly adorable. The man shoved (with a satisfying rudeness) past the other alpha and strode right to John, stopping abruptly a few short inches from him. He stared up at the man, grey eyes fixing on his own, searching. A moment later, that dark head dropped towards his neck, pausing right before touching, hot breath fanning across his skin. After another moment, John tilted his chin, unspoken permission given for Sherlock scent him.

The touch of just the tip of a nose along his scent gland had him humming in satisfaction and he stretched up on his toes to scent the alpha back, enjoying the warm scent of his alpha freshly-woken. Hands cupped his hips, steadying him and he pressed his lips to the skin, making another soft hum of appreciation. Just as warm, calloused thumbs slid under his vest, sweeping a single time along his skin and causing gooseflesh in their wake, someone from behind Sherlock cleared their throat. Surprised from the oddly tender moment, John rocked back on his heels, smiling at the way the alpha's head followed his motion and long fingers tightened around him to keep him where he was.

“Your taxi’s here, Sherlock,” the landlady’s voice called out from the doorway.

“I didn’t order a cabbie, Mrs Hudson,” Sherlock replied back from where his face was buried still in John’s neck, a slight bit of a growl accompanying his words. “Go away.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still here for you too, Sherlock, in case you’ve forgotten,” came an annoyed man’s voice, one John thought he recognised. A frustrated growl blew across his neck before Sherlock released him and stepped back, turning with a whirl and showing John a crowd of people huddling in the doorway that certainly hadn't been there three minutes ago, the snooty policewoman, the silver-haired alpha from the crime scene the day before, and the landlady frontal among the lot. Mrs Hudson was hovering, a look of nervous anxiousness on her face, and the silver-haired alpha was staring at them, face twitching as if he was trying to remain stern through his obvious surprise. The rest of the the people, all dressed in NSY uniforms, just looked stupefied and were making no effort to hide it.

“I haven’t forgotten, Lestrade,” Sherlock snapped. “I’m waiting for you to finish and leave.”

“Sherlock, what about your taxi?” Mrs Hudson reminded, wringing her hands.

“Mrs Hudson!” Sherlock roared and the older beta jumped with a sound of surprise, turning and rushing as fast as her hip would let her down the stairs. “I have already pulled up the GPS location of Jennifer Wilson’s phone on my laptop. Which is _downstairs_. I suggest you actually do your jobs for once.” Biting the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling, John almost started when a hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him through the small crowd an down the stairs to the kitchen. “Tea, John,” Sherlock commanded before sweeping away. Both eyebrows raised in minor incredulity, the omega none-the-less set to work, ignoring the lingering Yarders. Sherlock reappeared a few moments later, dressed in a similar suit to the day before, carrying his laptop and trailed by the silver-haired alpha.

“The website says the phone is here, Sherlock,” the older male was saying, pointing pointedly at the laptop’s screen. “Maybe it was in the suitcase and fell out?”

“No,” he snapped, voice annoyed. “The phone was not in the suit case!”

“Sherlock, dear,” Mrs Hudson called again, appearing in the door from the first floor, “This taxi driver...!”

“Mrs Hudson, for the last time, I did not order a tax-” Abruptly the alpha stopped speaking, spine straightening.

“Sherlock?” John asked, concerned about the epiphanous look on the detective's face. At his question, the look disappeared and his face cleared of emotion.

“Two sugars, no milk, John,” the alpha replied absently, setting his laptop on the cluttered kitchen table before turning towards the hovering elderly beta. “Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won’t be long.”

“Sherlock!” the Detective Inspector called after him as the genius bounded out of the flat and down the stairs. There was no answer and the man threw up his hands in frustrated defeat. “All right everyone, we have the case, let’s clear out.”

“Wait, what about Sherlock?” John asked, turning off the kettle and setting everything aside.

“Sherlock does that," the alpha shrugged, watching his team file out of their flat. "He comes and goes and he does what he wants, when and how he wants. It's a lot liking owning a cat that can talk back at you. At great length." With a wry smile, the alpha followed the rest out the door, leaving John alone in a flat that smelled of the those who’d just been inside, the comforting and heady scent of Sherlock underlying it all.

Annoyed, confused, frustrated, and feeling oddly alone, John frowned as he picked up the laptop and found the little green dot moving south down a street. He squinted at the tiny little letters lining the digital street. B-A-K-E-R. His heart stopped.

_”Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?”_

_”Your taxi’s here, Sherlock.”_

_“I didn’t order a taxi.”_

_“Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won’t be long.”_

“Idiot!” John’s unsocked feet barely had time to be stuffed into untied trainers before he was out the door in search of his own cab, the laptop tucked carefully under his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /whispers: _Smut next chapter._


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right.”

“Well, you have just killed a man.”

“Yes, well, he wasn’t a very nice man.” Sherlock blinked in surprise down at the omega staring up at him, waiting somewhat warily for his reaction. Unable to help himself, the alpha succumbed to quiet laughter, John joining him a moment later. The easy smile on his kind face, the easy way he held himself, the way his laugh was more of a giggle, had Sherlock staring in wonder.

He had only known John for a total of one intoxicated hour when the omega had built a room in the genius’s mind palace. Now the total was up to 22 hours, six of those having been spent with John, unfortunately, asleep, but the closet-sized room had metastasised into an entire wing filled with doors on each little subject he’d learned so far about the man. So many of the rooms were frustratingly empty and he was surprised to find that he wanted to fill them, that he wanted fill them all. And then build more.

Surprised by this revelation, Sherlock suddenly surged forward, eagerly swallowing John’s breathless laughter. Anticipating the way the omega instinctually jerked back at the surprise kiss, the alpha was already wrapping his arms around the small waist, one hand sliding up a muscle-firm back and into short golden hair to keep the other's mouth against his own. After getting over his initial surprise, John threw his arms around Sherlock's neck and responded more vigorously than the alpha had anticipated, tongue sweeping into his mouth and taking over the kiss with expert dominance that made Sherlock's cock hard and his knees weak.

Inexperienced in the feeling of arousal past the rare erection upon waking, when the wave of lust swept over Sherlock, he gasped and broke free of the kiss, dropping his head to the omega's neck, mouthing almost desperately at the skin over his scent gland.

" _John_ ," he moaned brokenly, arms tightening as he tried to ground himself before he was overwhelmed and swept away.

"Shhh..." John whispered into his hair. "It's okay. I've got you." They stood there, wrapped around each other, for several minutes as Sherlock battled his own body for control. When he felt he'd managed it, the alpha slowly drew out of the embrace, immediately missing the direct input of John's scent into his olfactory system. When he stepped back, John's expression was so deep and worried that Sherlock automatically leaned in for another kiss, this one so slow and sweet that it made his heart flutter dangerously in his chest.

"Are _you_ okay?" John asked when they broke apart a second time.

"This all really isn't... my area," he said vaguely, waving his hand between the two of them in substitute for words he had never before cared to use, much less learn.

"Was that..." the omega paused and bit his lip. "Was that your first kiss?" To his horror, Sherlock felt blood rushing to his cheeks and he quickly looked away, feeling mortified when John gave a quiet huff of laughter.

"I didn't mean it like that, you git. Here, look at me," he was ordered, small, sturdy hands cupping his cheeks to enforce the command. Reluctantly, he did so, earnest blue eyes capturing his attention immutably. "I _like_ that I'm the first," John informed in a possessive growl that made his cock throb. "That I'm the first person in the world to see you like this."

He'd never before heard of a possessive omega, but then again, he'd never before met someone like John, omega or otherwise. Someone who praised his every deduction, someone who had been introduced to The Work and didn't shy away but instead wanted more, someone who was interested in him for _him_ rather than his secondgender or the wealth and prestige that came with his family name.

"And the last," he blurted suddenly.

"'The last'?"John echoed brow furrowed in confusion.

"The first and the last, John. It's just you. I don't want anyone else." Now it was John's turn to look away and flush, his hands falling from Sherlock's face and he missed the warmth immediately. Worried at the lack of a reply, his stomach flipped. "Unless you no longer want..."

"No!" John shouted suddenly, startling Sherlock with the sudden volume and panicked expression. The alpha became newly aware that they were still lingering outside a crime scene where John had just shot a man for him. John seemed to become just as aware at the same time and flushed even darker as his gaze darted to the few people around who’d stopped to look at them. The omega leaned in, voice dropping in volume but no less heated. “How could I not want you, after all that?”

And that was really the difference between John Watson and everyone else. John still wanted him; anyone else would have called him a freak and run at the first chance they got. That warmth in his chest brightened and he smiled at the shorter man.

“Let’s go home, John.”

**.oOo.**

His arousal hadn’t yet faded by the time they walked into 221B. In fact, having John there, in his territory, only strengthened it, and as soon as the door closed behind the omega, Sherlock was curling fingers into the ugly oatmeal jumper and pressing its owner against the door, devouring his mouth with an embarrassingly desperate edge. To his credit, John was rather accommodating with this course of action, thrusting his own erection up into the thigh Sherlock shoved between his legs as the alpha rutted into his hip. The omega broke away from the kiss to begin applying nips and licks along Sherlock’s jaw and down his neck.

“John!” he gasped, swamped with more feeling than he’d ever had to deal with. His fingers, trembling and over-all failing to respond to his brain’s commands in a timely manner, managed to disentangle themselves from the woolen fabric, sliding up a hard chest to cup a tanned neck. His thumbs began stroking along the omega’s scent glands as an even more desperate need overtook him, one he had no idea how to act on. “John... John, I want--” Sherlock broke off with a whimper as the talented mouth on his skin sucked a hard mark into his neck.

“What do you want, Sherlock?” John sounded much too amused for so serious a situation and it only made the alpha fidget more, words failing him.

“I want... I want...” His thumbs couldn’t stop stroking the omega’s neck. “You. I want you,” he whispered, pulling back to look John in the eye. He felt adrift for the first time in a long time, and he needed guidance desperately.

“Okay,” John said simply and his heart stopped in his chest before restarting at an accelerated rate. “Let’s go get comfortable.” A small hand grasped his and he was pulled through his own flat and into his own bedroom, led along like a lost child. After the door was closed, the omega turned to face him, gently guiding him to sit on the edge of his bed. John shucked his jumper without ceremony, quickly followed by his button-up, and then his vest, all moisture in Sherlock’s mouth evaporating as he watched. That the other was well-formed was no surprise with his extra-curricular rugby team and general outdoorsiness, to see it was something else entirely.

His hand was reaching out to touch before he was even aware, and once he became aware, he drew it back quickly, embarrassed by his reaction and the blush that accompanied it. John just smiled as he toed off his shoes and Sherlock realised he was hadn’t worn any socks, likely having rushed out of the flat as soon as he deduced where the detective had gone. Before he had time to feel guilty for that (again), John was unbuttoning his jeans at a pace that seemed slower than time could allow. Regardless, when trousers dropped, pants did simultaneously and John was completely bare before him. Sherlock couldn’t decide where to look, from the toned chest and the slightly more fleshy belly to the cock jutting out from between muscular thighs, at the tip of which a bead of precome dwelled.

When John took a step forward, Sherlock realised he was probably expected to follow suit and his hands darted to the buttons on his shirt. They were trembling so violently he couldn’t even get a good grasp on the little discs and his eyes dropped down, trying to force his body to do as he bid. He didn’t even know the omega was standing right in front of him until hands closed over his fingers, stilling their frantic attempts.

“Sherlock...” John’s tone had him darting his eyes back up to concerned blue ones. “We don’t have to do this now, or at all, if you don’t want to.” The thought made his insides feel empty.

“I want this!” he blurted, clutching at the hands around his fingers. “I want this!” he insisted again. He angled his head up to press more desperate kisses along John’s jawline.

“Okay. It’s okay. It’s all fine, Sherlock.” The alpha’s hands were placed on his lap before deft fingers calmly unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it down his arms, tossing it to the floor with the rest of the discarded clothes. Then went his trousers and the pants beneath, hands tugging his shoes off his feet before clearing his legs of the last articles of clothing. Suddenly he began to feel subconscious of his body. He knew most alphas were thicker, more muscular. John was clearly experienced, and there was no doubt that Sherlock couldn’t measure up to the alphas he’d had in the past. The nervousness returned in full.

“Come on, love, up the bed,” he was directed but he was struck dumb by the endearment John had let loose.

“What?”

“I said budge up the bed, love,” the omega repeated with a smile. “I mean sure, we can do it right here if you’d prefer but it won’t be terribly comfortable.” Sherlock just stared, uncomprehending of the words being spoken at him.

John's smile turned a bit mischievous as he lifted a knee to set it on the bed besides the alpha's hip, nearly straddling the man who awkwardly shuffled backwards to give the omega more room. But a moment later, John lifted up his other knee, bringing it further forward than the first, almost straddling the alpha's hips again before Sherlock did another awkward scuttle backwards. It became a strange little game of chase, of the omega forcing the alpha back and up the bed until the detective's back hit the headboard, and the smaller man settled across his thighs with a patient smile, careful that there was no pressure on or against either of their erections.

“There. That’s better,” John said with another one of those warm smiles that made Sherlock's heart flutter. He swallowed roughly and nodded, his hands, still unsure of where to put them, resting on the bed by his hips once again.

“Now, when I’m in heat, I’ll only need a little preparation, maybe none, depending on how far into it I am. I’m sure you know I’ll still produce my own lubrication outside of a heat but I need help getting loose enough to take you.” The matter-of-fact way the lewd words were spoken had a breathless moan spilling from his lips. “This time, I’m just do it myself, but you can play with me later, okay?” His breath hitched and he could only nod as John leaned forward to distract him with more slow, sweet kisses. The scent of omega arousal and slick bloomed in the air until his head was swimming with it. He didn’t even realise John had already begun until slick began to drip onto his thighs and the omega broke off to moan breathlessly against his lips.

“All right, love. I think I’m ready for you.” Before he could respond, a hand wrapped firmly around his cock and a wet heat engulfed his glans. His hands flew to hips and he cried out, hips jerking up in an instinctual thrust. A hand gripped his shoulder tight enough to leave bruises but the sensation barely registered over the pleasure suddenly singing through his body.

“Shhh.... Shhh... It’s okay Sherlock. Just go slow. It’s all okay.” John’s voice was comforting murmur against his ear as that slick heat slid slowly over him, engulfing him. Finally, it stopped moving... and he had been devoured.

He didn’t realise he was speaking, babbling, begging, until the feel of fingers combing gently through his hair registered: “Oh, _John_. Please. _Please!_ I need... I need...” He hadn’t even realised his hands had moved from John’s hips to tightly circle his waist until the omega in his lap shifted backwards and he found himself holding the man as John continued stroking his scalp until the alpha had calmed.

“How are you doing?” At the concerned question, it occurred to Sherlock that he should be asking _John_ that. That Sherlock should be the one taking care of John, and not the other way around. Wasn’t that what an alpha was supposed to do? His head jerked up and he scanned the omega’s face anxiously. He was relieved to find no traces of pain or discomfort. After all, John did have a cock stuffed up his arse, regardless if his biology was built for it or not.

“I’m fine,” he finally replied, keeping one arm around his omega’s waist and using the other hand to cup a tan cheek. “Are you?” His inquiry came out breathless but no less concerned and John smiled at him.

“I’m perfect.” Before he could respond with anything sentimental such as _”I’m glad.”_ or _”Yes, you are.”_ , John began to move, rising up on his knees and dropping back down, the glide along his cock smooth and electrifying. His hand fell from the omega’s cheek back to his waist, wrapping back around to lace fingers with his other hand, a loose embrace to ground himself and to balance his omega as John fucked himself slowly on his alpha’s cock.

The sight of John riding him was absolutely breathtaking and he didn’t dare to blink for fear of missing one of the many micro-expressions playing across the omega’s expressive face. They would get their own room in John’s wing of his mind palace, framed snapshots lining the walls. There was an unfamiliar pleasure building slowly, low and sweet, at the base of his spine. Never before had he felt experimenting with masturbation or sex to be of any import, but now that he'd been introduced to it, now that he'd been introduced to it by and with _John_ , he could understand why it was so sought-after. John shifted a bit and then immediately pitched forward, face landing against Sherlock’s neck with an accompanying choked moan against his skin.

“Oh my _God_. _Sherlock_ ,” he groaned, the tan fingers embedded in Sherlock's shoulders tightening even further before releasing, only to repeat the process every time John lifted his hips up and dropped back down. “I wish I was in heat so I could feel your knot,” the other continued, whispering dirty things into his neck. “I can hardly wait for it.” The filthy words and the promise in them had him moaning in response, thrusting up as John dropped down. The gasp the omega let out made him freeze, worried he’d done something wrong.

“Wait, Sherlock! Do that again! For the love of God, do that again!” Startled, Sherlock remained frozen until John whined high and he was startled into action. Bending his knees and planting his feet, Sherlock’s arms tightened to balance the omega in his lap and he began to thrust up as best as the position would allow.

“Fuck!” His hips stuttered at the shout but John’s previous cry was still fresh in his mind and he made sure not to stop. “Holy fuck, Sherlock. You’re perfect. You’re fucking perfect.” Whilst he normally didn’t condone coarse vocabulary, the way John used it only made his cock throb harder. “Are you close, love? Please tell me you’re close.” The fire was spreading through his limbs, burning him alive.

“I think so,” he gasped. “I’m sorry, John, I don’t know--”

“It’s okay,” John interrupted breathlessly. “It’s okay, Sherlock.” One hand raised from his shoulder to slide into his hair, grasping his curls firmly and guiding his face towards John’s neck. Towards his scent gland. This was it. The final offering. The final acceptance. His heart felt ready to burst from his chest from a level of happiness he’d never before experienced. “Bite when you come, Sherlock. You have to--ah!--break the skin. Do you u-uhh-nderstand?”

“Yes, John,” he gasped, nodding emphatically. His testicles were drawing up and there was a feeling of _just a little closer..._ “John, I think I’m-- I think-- Oh, _John_ , my John.”

“That’s right, Sherlock. Just let it happen. Just let it-- ah!” Sherlock’s hand had wrapped around John’s precome-slick cock, stroking it in time with the omega’s thrusts, knowing somehow that he needed the man to tip over the edge with him. Teeth clamped onto his neck, moans vibrating the caught skin right before the fire in his body took him over entirely, lighting him up like a living pyre.

“Bite, Sherlock! Bite now!” Almost before John shouted, Sherlock was already clamping down as hard as he could, making sure the force was enough to break skin like he’d been commanded. His cock was throbbing inside of John, the slick passage contracting so deliciously around him that his vision went white as the omega’s own orgasm spurted into his palm and against his stomach.

The shocks faded slowly from his system and he realised that John’s teeth were still clamped around his neck, though not hard enough to break skin, and that his own teeth were, in fact, embedded in his new mate’s scent gland. Unsure of how long he was supposed to hold the position, he leaned back against the backboard slowly, feeling John whimper into his neck at the motion. As he relaxed against the comfortably-padded backboard, a wave of exhaustion swept over him, the good kind, like what he normally felt after a case, but better, and his eyelids started to droop.

“Sherlock?” He heard his name called softly, though it seemed to come from very far away. “Sherlock, are you okay?” His teeth were pulled free and he hummed deep in his throat.

“My omega, my mate, ” he murmured. “My John.” A warm weight settled comfortably on his lap and against his chest, curved lips pressing against his cheek and the air in around him delightfully suffused with the scent of their mating. Happy and sated and comfortable, Sherlock allowed the exhaustion to carry him into sleep without complaint.


	5. Chapter 5

John came awake under a sheet, face down in fabric that smelled like Sherlock and to the feeling of fingers stroking through his hair down to his new mating mark, a single fingertip circling the edge before fading away, only for it all to start again.

“Did your mother teach you to shoot like that?” Sherlock's voice was soft from where it floated down from somewhere above his head. The alpha must have been sitting up in bed because the hard line of heat down John's back felt awfully like legs. With a deep, whooshing breath, the omega rolled over to face them, throwing an arm around firm thighs and nuzzling into the curve of a hip with a gentle nip. The hand that had been petting him took one more run through his hair before coming to a rest on the back of his neck, fingers curling around and fingertips pressing lightly into the mark; he felt boneless with relaxation and the remains of the previous night's pleasure.

"Yeah. Before mum met dad, he was a sniper in the army." He hadn't talked about his other parent for ages with someone who wasn't Harry or dad but he knew Sherlock wouldn't judge. "For the longest time, I wanted to be just like him, and he taught me as much as I could take in, and I got to be just a good a shot as he was." He paused for a moment, wanting to choose the right words to properly commemorate the man he loved and had looked up to.

"He taught me omegas didn't have to be like you see in the movies, even before I presented." He could picture the man still: not a soft muscle on his body nor a kind expression on his face, all of it a misdirect on how kind he actually was. "He'd done really well in the military. A sniper and a colonel and everything. But after he passed, dad and Harry helped me see that that wasn't really what I really wanted out of life. At least, not the sniper bit."

Sherlock was quiet for a long moment, his fingers resuming their stroking through the short golden strands, nearly tempting John back to sleep before he spoke. "How did he die?"

John couldn't help the old, bitter edge to his laugh. "Car wreck. Drunk driver."

This time, Sherlock's fingers did pause. "You were in the car." The omega's breath caught in his throat; deduction or guess? The genius either ignored or didn't hear his respiratory hitch as the fingers resumed their grooming. "The drunk driver hit your mother's side. He was fatally injured, you weren't. There was nothing you could do. You had to watch him die." John's throat was suddenly very tight, his eyes itchy. Sherlock's hand paused again. "Not good?" he asked, tentative voice echoing the words John had admonished him with the day before. He had to swallow a few times before he could reply.

"I miss him," he said simply. There was a sudden bout of movement from Sherlock as the alpha shuffled down in John's arms until they were face-to-face.

"If something happened to me, would you miss me like that?" His mate's expression was serious and somber, his voice small, and it made John's heart hurt. He leaned in to press a soft kiss against receptive lips, feeling oddly relieved when the alpha's cock swelled against his own.

"Hopefully nothing will happen to you at all, but 'yes' and 'no'; I'd miss you but not like how I miss mum." Sherlock's expression started to fall and the omega leaned forward to mumble against his mate's lips, "How I'd miss you would hurt so much more." The slow, shy smile he received had him renewing their kiss until both of them were thrusting gently forward into the other's thigh. Predictably, Sherlock broke away less than a minute later, breath coming out in harsh pants.

"John, can I please--? I want--" The alpha kept cutting himself off, dropping sentences as his face flushed in embarrassment. John loved it. But he also wanted to hear his freshly-deflowered mate's deep voice saying something much dirtier. John began to press open-mouthed kisses on Sherlock's jawline, along the sharp bone and then down to a pale neck where he decidedly began to employ all his efforts.

"Use your words, love. Tell me what you want," he whispered, splotches of red blooming in the wake of his teeth. He leaned up to nibble on the soft, fleshy lobe of his alpha's ear, breathing out, "Be _explicit_." The erection pressing rhythmically against his thigh came to a sudden standstill as Sherlock drew back slightly. John waited. Patiently.

The arms around him withdrew before a hand gently grasped his shoulder. "I would like..." Sherlock started, voice hesitant as he began to roll John. "I would like to put you on your back?" His voice and the prodding were hesitant, unsure, and when the omega settled onto his back, he found his alpha propped up on one hand, blushing profusely.

"Go on," he encouraged with a soft smile. The genius's face darkened almost explosively.

"I mean, your stomach!" Sherlock blurted, clearly and adorably beyond flustered. "I want you on your stomach." This time, the alpha's prodding was more forceful, but as John obliged, trying to contain his smile, he thought it more likely that the detective was trying to hide his embarrassment than that he had suddenly found his alpha-confidence.

As soon as he was settled on his belly, arms folded under his head and eyes closed, the bed shifted and the sheet covering him was slowly pulled away, revealing his skin inch by tantalizing inch. The slide of fabric whispering over his skin was truly decadent and he almost purred. After he was fully exposed, there was nothing. No sound. No movement. He didn't even think he could hear his mate breathing. The more he thought about it, the more he could picture Sherlock at the end of the bed, staring at John with a red face and lustful eyes, having no clue what to do with the gift in front of him. Deciding to take a bit of the initiative to help his adorably helpless mate, John parted his legs and rolled his hips out, pushing his damp arse into air and smiling at the strangled moan from behind him.

"I'd like to... I'd like to..." There was a pause as Sherlock cleared his throat. "I would like to... to lick you," he finally managed to say. John's heart felt full and he was glad his face was covered because he might've been blushing as well.

"Okay," he simply. "Whatever you want, love." There was another pause and then his legs were shifted apart gently before a warm weight settled between them, arms draped over his thighs as large hands palmed his arse cheeks. When he felt breath over his wet hole followed by a deep inhale, John knew he was definitely blushing. At the first tentative brush of a tongue along his rim, a shudder rolled down his spine. He could feel the alpha behind him freeze and he waited with bated breath for the man to draw the correct conclusion. At the second tongue swipe, John melted into the bed, making a soft noise of pleasure.

If he’d thought about it later, John would have laughed at the way Sherlock’s little kitten licks along his rim had him mewling in no time, squirming on the sheets. But at the least, his alpha seemed to grow a little more confident the more vocal the omega got. Soon, Sherlock was licking him open so fervently that it felt like he was trying to capture every last drop of slick on his tongue. When his mate pulled away, John couldn’t help but whimper, skin too hot and cock too hard and arse too empty. The long form of his alpha stretched out along his back, a naked cock pressing between his cheeks as lips tickled his ear.

“I’d really like to--” Sherlock’s husky sentence started out confident and John moaned, grinding his up arse when the alpha suddenly cut off.

“Say it, love,” he moaned. “Please, tell me.” The omega tried to roll his hips again, only to find the weight on them had increased, keeping him still.

“I’d really like to-- to fuck you now, John.” Despite know what words were coming, John’s breath hitched at hearing that posh voice say something as vulgar as ‘fuck’.

“I’ve already given you leave,” he laughed quietly. “Take what you want from me. I’m yours.”

“O-okay,” Sherlock gasped, pulling back after a moment. The thick tip of an alpha cock pressed against his entrance and he spread his legs and tilted his hips as best as he could, breath coming out in short pants. Though they’d just done this last night, it was still new, and the slow but slick glide of Sherlock pressing into him was beyond fantastic. Staying relaxed, John didn’t release his breath until his alpha came to a full stop inside him, draped across his back and chin pressed over his shoulder.

“ _John_ ,” his detective whispered brokenly in his ear. “You feel... I don’t have words. I want to stay inside you forever.” Fuck, Sherlock may make him cry if he keeps saying such sweet things.

“I know,” he whispered back. “But it get so much better when you move. I promise.”

“I remember.” Sherlock’s cock twitched in him and the omega groaned, swivelling his hips. “I remember.”

“Good. Then--AH!” Without warning, the alpha pulled out and shoved back in. Following his shout, there was a terrifying moment where John thought he was going to stop. But he didn’t, thank god. It was only a brief hiccup before he pulled out and shoved back him, his hips the only thing that were moving as if he was afraid to break contact. An arm was shoved under his hips, angling him just a little higher and he cried out as that thick cock pressed against his prostate.

It all felt so good and he wanted to beg for more, for 'harder' or 'faster', but now that Sherlock had found his prostate, he wasn't missing it, and each prod was flaming the embers of his building orgasm. A second arm was shoved under his chest, the attached hand curling around his shoulder and pushing down with each thrust, trying to embed him deeper onto that cock. The heat of Sherlock curled so tightly around him, inside him, was making him dizzy with emotion and arousal, was making him wish he was in heat so that he could feel his mate's knot tying them together. Instead of all that, all he could gasp out was "Sherlock!"

"Can I-- hah hah--bite you again?" the alpha managed between pants breathed directly into John's ear, sending more shivers down his spine. "Please?" Unable to wrangle the necessary brain cells to reply, especially after the sound of that gasped 'please', John just tilted his neck to exposed the bite mark from the previous night. The arm under his hips shifted, pulling him the tiniest bit onto his knees before a hand wrapped around his cock. The long fingers barely stroked him a handful of times before he began to come all over them, and then teeth pierced him as Sherlock began to come inside him, retriggering his orgasm in waves of pleasure that made his eyesight go dark.

Every pulse of Sherlock's cock inside him as he ejaculated prompted a little hum from John, but it didn't last as long as he would've liked, as long as it would have had he been in heat. This time, Sherlock pulled his teeth out of the omega's scent gland himself, but he didn't move anything else, leaving his cock to soften inside the warm passage, seemingly only settling himself more comfortably over John like a living, breathing blanket.

"How long until I'm able to knot you?" His mate sounded absolutely wrecked, voice croaking when he spoke. John smiled.

"Six weeks." In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't very long, but to a newly-mated couple, it was eternity. "In the meantime, I suppose we'd better get in plenty of practise."

Impossibly, but apparently not, he felt his alpha harden inside him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though we just finished a retelling of ASiP, we’re taking the off-road detour at this juncture: from here until the story end, no events from TBB and beyond will occur in this storyverse. This is important to remember.

As time passed and Sherlock got to know John better and better over the next few months, got to know how truly stubborn and strong his omega was, the more something that he'd said when they first met continued to bother him: _"I am not rubbish and I will not be treated as such."_ The more he thought about it, the stranger a thing it seemed for someone as confident as his mate to say.

"Who called you 'rubbish'?" he asked one day as John walked in the door, back home from his uni classes. Sherlock hadn't had a case in two days and he was laying on his back on the sofa, eyes closed as he roamed his mind palace.

"What are you talking about?" John asked, the sound of his bag hitting the ground followed by the whisper of his jacket being hung up before he headed to the kitchen to start tea.

"When we first met," he elaborated, holding back an annoyed sigh at having to do so. "You told me you wouldn't be treated like rubbish. Who called you 'rubbish'?" The sounds from the kitchen ceased abruptly. A minute later, John's slow stride started towards him and then the man was climbing into his lap. He'd developed a Pavlovian reaction to having his mate's cock anywhere near his own and he started to swell between them. There was a soft huff of laughter from John as he settled his weight but he didn't lay down like he normally did. A bit confused, wondering if he had strayed into 'bit not good' territory like he so often did, Sherlock opened one eye to stare up at his mate.

John's expression was of contemplation, shaded with past anger, frustration, and annoyance. Sherlock opened his other eye and placed both hands on his omega's hips, thumbs slipping under his vest to rub softly at the skin. His mate's eyelids fluttered shut, the scent of arousal just barely tinting the air. After a moment, John's eyes opened half-mast, watching him carefully.

"I used to be promised to someone else." Somehow he hadn't observed that and it made him blink in surprise. "Dad convinced mum to get it set up right after I presented. He was okay in the beginning, I thought. An alpha, handsome, polite, educated, treated me well. I'd had a few one night stands from parties and stuff before but I wanted to wait a little with him because it was a relationship that was supposed to last."

John's face was closed off as he retreated into his memories and suddenly Sherlock felt very alone, his mate straddling him physically but his mind years away. Subconsciously, his grip tightened as if the only thing keeping John in front of him was the strength of his fingers.

"It took a few months before I let him fuck me, and it was... okay." The thought of another alpha, any alpha at all, past or present, touching his mate, made a growl form low in the alpha's chest. That at least seemed to pull his omega back to him. “Nothing special," John placated with a gentle smile as he began to draw lazy symbols onto to his alpha's belly with a forefinger. "Nothing at all to... write home about, so to speak. But it was after that that he started to change." The way John's face darkened raised all sorts of alarm bells and did nothing to quell the rising possessive and protective anger.

"He started demanding sex all the time, wouldn't stop bothering me about joining me during my heat, tried to make me quit school. Basically he became an overbearing, controlling, abusive twat." John's easy shrug wasn't helping the alpha's sudden instinctual desire to find this other alpha and flay him alive. "And then after mum died, he was nowhere near understanding or comforting and I'd had enough even before that so I told him I was done, had dad break the arrangement, and, well, here we are."

The more John said, and the more the detective observed _wasn't_ being said, the angrier Sherlock got. It didn't matter that that had all happened before he even knew John Watson existed. It didn't matter that without those events, he never would have even met the most perfect person in the world for him. What mattered was how his mate had been treated at all.

"You're bruising me, love." The amused statement snapped him from his thoughts and he immediately loosened his grip on John's hips, but his anger remained.

"Tell me his name," he snarled, rather than apology he normally would've given his mate any other moment.

"No." Sherlock blinked at the short, breezy answer.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to meet him. I don't want you around someone like that." Something passed over John's face for a split second before he smiled as he got up. "I feel grimy. I'm going to take a shower. You're welcome to join me." Normally he would, any chance to be with his mate when he was naked. Instead, he spent the entire shower running an internet search on every variation of John's name for mating announcements. When each one had been exhausted without result and John was settling into his chair, damp, pink, and smiling with a fresh cuppa in hand, Sherlock threw his phone down in disgust and promptly began to sulk.

**.oOo.**

John's mysterious almost-mate was never far from Sherlock's mind in the weeks that passed after his mate's confession. It was a case, a personal case, and the best way to get the answer from his omega, he decided, was to surprise the answer from him, ask him when his guard was at its lowest.

He tried asking him in the mornings when the omega was astride the line that was 'awake' and 'dreaming'. John's eyes would snap open before giving him a dirty glare and then he would give a huff of annoyance before rolling away from him, heading to the toilet without an invite to join him in the shower.

He had tried asking at crime scenes when he indulged in one of his favourite treats: encouraging John to deduce the body. He would slip the demand in between prompts. Caught in the line of questions, the omega's mouth would open automatically before snapping shut as its owner gave him The Look. Before Sherlock could finish dazzling his mate with his intellect, the man would stride off and initiate conversation with Lestrade, with whom he had apparently (unfortunately) built a friendship.

He would try to bargain with the to-be doctor that he would eat or sleep if John only gave him the name. If he tried bargaining for the former, his mate would tackle him and force him to eat. If he tried the latter, his omega would entice him to their bed for things that had nothing to do with sleep.

He even tried once as he was fingering open his mate, whispering the demand against slick-damp thighs. John had kicked him in the ribs with his heel and Sherlock's fingers stilled but didn't pull out. The next two minutes were spent by his omega trying to decide which one of them it would punish more if he told Sherlock to stop (and he knew that no matter how far into it, Sherlock would stop immediately if asked or told to). Finally, he ground down on long fingers with a moan and Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief and struck 'during sex' off his daily checklist of 'when to ask John The Question'.

**.oOo.**

"Jesus fucking Christ, Sherlock!" John shouted in exasperation as he threw the dish he was washing back into the water. The omega had looked haggard when he'd arrived home to most of their dishes covered an experiment that required at least three washes. John had been on the third when Sherlock walked in and demanded the answer. At the unbridled anger and exhaustion in his mate's voice though, he was beginning to regret having done so. "You really want to know what that asshole's name is?"

Trick question? "Yes?" he replied tentatively. Before he could blink, Sherlock had been turned around and chest shoved roughly onto the freshly-cleaned table, his pyjama bottoms and pants around his thighs, and a soap-slick finger in his arse.

"Don't come until after I do and I'll tell you," his mate whispered hotly in his ear, and that was all the warning he received before he was introduced to the apparent art that was prostate massaging.

"John!" he cried, writhing on the table and unable to keep from babbling from the extreme pleasure radiating from the pressure of his mate's fingers. He knew this was unusual, more than unusual, alphas did _not_ get fucked by _omegas_ , but suddenly, it was all he wanted. John's fingers stretched him open relentlessly, first one, then two, then three, before pulling out.

"No!" he shouted when the pleasure ceased with the loss of those digits, reaching back to frantically grasp at his mate and bring his fingers back. A hand wrapped around his waving wrist firmly and placed it just as firmly against his lower back, holding it there as a cock pressed slowly inside him. Sherlock could only moan as he was filled in a way he'd never thought he'd be. He felt full to bursting with _John_. John whose scent was all he could smell, all he could taste. John whose cock and hands were all he could feel. John whose actions made it so his heart and his breath in his ears was all he could hear. John whose expression right before this started was all he could see on the back of his eyelids as he imagined the picture they must be making.

As John began to pull out to thrust back in, Sherlock thought that he may have been crying from the amount of chemicals and _John_ his brain was swimming in. His cock was bouncing against his stomach with every thrust, the absence of friction to accompany what his mate was doing to him almost too much to handle. When he dropped his free hand between his legs to give it some attention, John snagged it, drawing it to the centre of his lower back to join Sherlock's other captured wrist, and the angle change from the motion brought the thrusting cock right into contact with his prostate. Hands trapped by the same omega fucking roughly into him, unable to do anything to provoke his orgasm, Sherlock began to sob in body-numbing pleasure and beg for release.

"John. My John, let me come!" he nearly shouted, voice already hoarse from the sounds he'd been making. "This feels-- You feel--" To this day, John Watson is the only person for whom Sherlock Holmes can not find words, especially when said omega simply laughs and fucks into him harder and faster.

"Don't you want to know his name?" John asked, voice breathless and thrusts steady.

'His name'? Whose name? His brain was could only concentrate on the pleasure his mate's cock was giving him. Who-- Oh!

"Y-yes!" he gasped out. "I want to know!" Teeth nipped at his shoulder blade, sharp and quick.

"Then you'd better wait until I come, love." If he didn't know his omega so well, he would have called the words and their tone 'sadistic'.

"Then please! Please come!" he shouted, John's hips against him stuttering with his words.

"Christ, Sherlock," his mate panted. "Keep talking like that and I will."

"I want to know what it feels like to have you come inside me." Sherlock was too far gone to flush at his own vocalization of such a dirty desire, though he likely would later once he remembered what he'd said while consumed with lust and teetering on the edge of an orgasm.

"Oh, fuck," John muttered as Sherlock's vision went white, the cock punishing him slamming home a final time as warmth filled him.

"John John John!” he cried, struggling weakly against the harsh hands holding him down. "Please!" The hands on his wrists shifted so he was being held by one as the other curled around his waist. John's hand wrapped around him and he was coming, ignited by white fire, firm, calloused fingers stroking him through the waves as the hips behind him pumped in and out slowly, milking them both of every last vestige of pleasure. His mate collapsed along his back, chest heaving as he fought for breath.

"Christ, Sherlock," John mumbled against his shoulder, his heavy weight a comfortable assurance that this wasn't a dream. "I can't believe you just let me mount you." The wonder in his mate's voice made him smile.

"As you were the one to initiate, I feel that that line should be mine," he rumbled back, receiving a quiet huff of laughter in response. "I also feel that you should know that I am amenable to a repeat of this in the future." Another puff of quiet laughter.

"Victor Trevor," John said suddenly, and if Sherlock wasn't so relaxed from being fucked so thoroughly, hearing the name of one of his dealers from his mate's lips would have made him rigid. He hadn't seen the man since the week before meeting John all those months ago, hadn't seen any of his dealers since he'd been with John so--

"Excuse me?"

"The alpha. That's his name. Victor Trevor."

_"Cool news, Siggy. My pops set up one of those arranged marriages with an omega."_

_"It's been four fucking months and this cunt won’t give me_ his _cunt!_

_“Finally got that omega to roll over for me, Siggy. Kind of a limp fish in bed, won’t let me fuck him bareback, but he tastes pretty fucking good.”_

_“He won’t drop out of school! What kind of omega doesn’t listen to his alpha? He wants to be a fucking doctor. A doctor! Hah!”_

_“Three years, eleven heats, and that bitch still hasn’t let me near any of them. Found me a few on the side that would let me knot ‘em.”_

_“The bitch’s mother died. Didn’t even want to fuck. Unbelievable.”_

_“That fucking cunt broke it off! Him! With me! He’s been promised to me for three fucking years! Didn’t even let me knot him once. I’ll get him back, Siggy. That omega has been mine since he presented and he’s gonna be mine.”_

_”I don't want you around someone like that.”_ ‘Someone like that’. A drug dealer.

Sherlock’s blood ran cold even as the rest of him went hot with anger and he stood abruptly, his mate making a sound of surprise. John’s soft cock slipped out of him with a wet squelch, along with most of his come in a perverse trickle down the back of his thighs.

“Sherlock?” John’s worried voice cut through his thoughts no other’s could. “I’m sorry. Did I-- Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-- Alphas don’t--” Startled from his thoughts for a moment by the scent and sound of rising panic, he whirled around to face his mate and to kiss him until he was too dizzy to think, dominating the smaller man just as thoroughly as he’d just been dominated.

“John, hush,” he murmured against gasping lips. Blue eyes were glazed over and, even now, months in, he was still surprised that he could provoke that look in his strong, beautiful omega. “I just told you I enjoyed it and would like it, very much, should it happen again. All right?” Still looking a bit dazed, John nodded at him. “I just had a thought. Case. It wasn’t you. I promise.” In a way, it wasn’t a lie. The thought was more about Victor than it was about John. “Would you care to join me in the shower?”

Though his mind remained on the problem of Victor Trevor and what he would do about him, about his imagined claim on John, if he still thought he had one (and Sherlock was sure he did), they ended up getting a little dirtier under the water before they got cleaner.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I jumped on the ‘[Idris Elba as Victor Trevor](http://themadkatter13.tumblr.com/post/86851828179/watsonsdick-victor-quirked-an-eyebrow-as-his)' train so fast I didn’t have time to buy a ticket. My IE!VT is nowhere near as cultured, but he was still in my mind. Also, brief reminder from last chapter: we’re still on that off-road detour and no TBB-and-beyond have occurred or will occur in storyverse.

It wasn’t that unusual to wake up with Sherlock not in bed; the alpha was always conducting experiments or ‘composing’ on his violin, but he was almost always home. The few times he hadn’t been, he’d been on a case, but he’d always woken John up before he left. So to wake up this morning with no sign of his mate having been recently in bed or in the flat at all was a bit strange. And with the kind of trouble that man tended to get into, a bit worrying as well. Still, the omega knew damn well there was nothing he could do but wait. When the detective got an idea in his head, he didn’t let go of it and he didn’t wait for the rest of the world to catch up.

A short time later had him seated with a fresh cuppa and a warm breakfast, staring blankly at the black-screened telly, unable to keep his mind from contemplating the last few months. Last few years, really. He’d grown up planning on joining the military like mum had, but to be a field surgeon rather than a sniper, no matter what he presented as, and both mum and dad, even Harry, had been incredibly encouraging of his decision his whole life. Then he presented as omega, and for whatever reason, dad got mum to agree to an arranged mating. It’d taken a bit of persuasion on their part to get him to accept it, but he’d given it a go. And look how that ended up. With a mentally and emotionally abusive asshole that was better off in a ditch than on the street.

At the same time, John couldn’t help but wonder: if he’d never been promised to Victor, would he have met Sherlock? Even if he would have, if he’d never been subjected to that utter twat, would he be the same person now? Would he have that same strength and stubbornness that seemed to attract his alpha to him the most? Would he be as he is now, in this amazing life with this brilliant alpha who wanted him and gave him more adventure and excitement than the army could have? That encouraged his schooling and his interests?

There were so many ‘what if’s surrounding life, and he was going to depress himself if he kept imagining them. But in quiet moments like this, when there was a still interruption in life with Sherlock, he couldn’t help where his mind went. Couldn’t help but imagine that he was still sitting on his bed at dad’s, doing homework, determined but alone. He was more grateful than he could ever put into words how grateful he was for Sherlock in his life. Sherlock. It was always Sherlock.

A short knock on the door downstairs stirred him from his thoughts and he blinked, looking up from the cup of tea he’d apparently been staring down long enough for it to get cold. Expecting for Mrs Hudson to get it like she always did, he started to zone out again only for the knock to come a second time. Frowning, he realised she must have popped off for... whatever it is she popped off for and he’d have to answer the door himself. He was halfway down the stairs when a third set of knocking came and he frowned with annoyance.

“Keep your knickers on!” he shouted, spitefully taking the stairs a bit slower than usual. Just as he reached for the handle, the person on the other side of the door began to pound impatiently and John yanked it open.

“Wha--?!” His angry words died on his tongue as he stared up at the person on the other side of the door. “Victor?”

“Heya, Johnny,” the alpha greeted, his wolfish smile bright across his dark skin. “Long time no see.”

**.oOo.**

John couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in such an uncomfortable situation. He was perched in his chair with a fresh cuppa curled in his palm while the alpha he used to be promised to sat in Sherlock’s chair, his body just as tall as the detective’s but thicker, filling up all spaces his pale alpha’s lanky frame couldn’t.

“You up the duff, yet?” Startled by the sudden breach of (awkward) silence, the omega just blinked for a minute.

“What?”

“I said, are you up the duff yet, Johnny?” The lewd grin directed at him was sparking all kinds of familiar violent thoughts in the back of his mind but the man hadn’t yet said why he was here and as much as he hated him, he didn’t want to deprive the man he did love of a good mystery if there was one to be had.

“No,” he replied shortly, sipping at his tea.

“Hm.” Victor just nodded and carelessly dropped his mug on the table, leaning back to spread his arms along the back of Sherlock’s chair. Spreading his scent over the alpha’s to whom the furniture belonged, the bastard. The omega just kept at his tea and waited. Long minutes passed with nothing but the alpha staring at him like he wanted to eat him alive and, devoid of the presence of his mate, John could feel himself slipping into a past mindset, one he had no desire to have then and had no desire to have now. When he’d run out of tea and still, nothing, he finally put down his own mug and narrowed his eyes.

“What do you want, Victor?” he snapped, voice more demanding than he wanted it to be. He wanted to appear unaffected by the alpha’s appearance; he wanted to _be_ unaffected by his appearance. But just because you stop using a set of habits for a long time doesn’t mean you forget them.

“I heard you were mated now. Been reading up on you blog. Bit of an cunt, that Sherlock, yeah?” And there was that same stupid smile that made John just _murderous_. That same condescending, know-it-all, wolfish smile. Something delicious tickled his nose and he frowned, attention shifting towards the curiosity for a split second until the man across from him shifted and that attention refocused defensively.

“Not really,” he managed to grit out, fingers curling and uncurling, anxious for violence and hidden at his side by the chair’s arm. “What are you doing here, Victor?” he asked more pointedly.

“Well, Johnny, now that you’re finally open to mating, figured you’d come back to me.” John could only blink in minor shock. That same scent from a minute ago was thickening in the tiniest increments as the seconds ticked by but the shorter man was too busy being struck stupid by the idiot across from him to notice on a conscious level.

“Wait so... You read that I have an alpha. And you thought I would... leave him and go back to you?” he clarified incredulously. 

“Well, yeah,” the tall man shrugged. “I gave you plenty of time away but our parents made an arrangement.” John began to laugh.

“Vic, we weren’t taking a _break_ , I broke it off!” he exclaimed. Beneath his pyjama bottoms, for some reason, he was starting to get hard and his arse was starting to feel a bit damp, not unlike when he would smell Sherlock’s arousal or when he was in heat. But they’d just gone through a heat week before last and Sherlock wasn’t even in the flat. He took a tentative sniff towards the other alpha. Victor smelled as pleasant as he always did, but it had never been enough to arouse him. Across from him, the alpha shifted, nostrils flaring as his eyes dilated.

“You say that, Johnny, but your scent says something different,” Victor said, tapping his nose as he shifted his hips.

“My scent has nothing to do with you,” he snapped. “I’ll tell you the same thing now that I told you then: I never wanted you; I still don’t want you; and I’m perfectly happy with my life as it is now.” The alpha barked out a laugh.

“Oh come on, Johnny. You’re just saying that. Tell you what. I’ll stay with you till that tosser gets back. We can find some way to entertain ourselves--” the git winked saucily at him “--and when he gets back, I can challenge him, fight to the death, whatever, I’ll win, and then we can go home.”

John couldn’t help it. He started to laugh. Sure Victor was larger than Sherlock in solid mass, they were about the same height, but he’d seen his alpha take down men bigger than the one across from him, men that were actually trained how to fight. And none of the Trevors ever exerted more energy towards a task than was necessary, including exercise. Not to mention that the idea that he would just leave his mate for him was absolutely ludicrous.

“Wow, Vic. God. I just... Wow.” He’d never been struck dumb by someone before but he supposed there was a first for everything. “You are... delusional. Listen. Even if you by some miracle defeat Sherlock in... unarmed combat, how do you expect that to change my mind and have me break the bond I _chose_ to have with my mate?”

“I believe he plans to carry you to his cave like a Neanderthal, John.”

“Fucking hell!” John cried, startling so bad his heart took on an irregular rhythm for nearly a full minute when Sherlock popped up from behind the sofa, of all places, completely naked and cock hard, red, and bobbing between his thighs, two pairs of cuffs in one hand. Both of the room’s occupants were frozen in their seats in surprise and his mate was like quicksilver, shooting forward and handcuffing both of Victor’s dark wrists to the silver bars of the chair. The omega had only managed to get to his feet when his alpha slipped behind him, plopping down in John’s chair before yanking down his pyjama bottoms and pants in one smooth move, his own hard cock bouncing free..

“Oi!” he cried out, bending down to yank them back up. Apparently a mistake because long fingers wrapped around his hips and pulled him down, right onto his alpha’s thick cock. “Sherlo-AH-k!” It struck him suddenly that he’d been smelling his mate’s arousal for some time, that the reason he’d become hard and wet was because his aroused alpha was hiding in the room, flooding it so slowly with pheromones that he hadn’t even noticed. Because of that, the stretch as he was penetrated was noticeable but pleasurable, and one hell of a surprise as he was stuffed full in a split-second.

There was no movement after that, just the quiet sounds of Baker Street floating in from the open window and John’s pants as he tried to get his heart and his arousal under control. Victor was the first to break the silence.

“Siggy?!” The cry from the other alpha made John look up from where he was struggling to get off Sherlock’s cock despite the iron grip on his hips. Some alphas like to publicly display the taking of their omegas but he’d never pictured _his_ alpha to be one of them. He wasn’t sure if he should be offended that Sherlock felt the need to stake a claim on him in front of his ex, or flattered.

“What? No, this is Sherlock. My mate,” John corrected absently and introduced simultaneously, biting back a whimper when the hips under his swiveled and his prostate was nudged.

“This is who your mate is? He’s a junkie! He used to buy from me!” The to-be doctor knew that his previously promised had sold drugs and when he couldn’t convince him to stop, it was just another reason on a long list to break it off permanently.

“Sherlock?” The hips swiveled again and his breath hitched in his throat as his cock throbbed.

“You know I have a history with recreational drugs,” came his mate’s voice from behind him, low but clear, sentence punctuated with a shallow thrust that still managed to hit his prostate. “Cocaine was my preference.” Thrust. “I’d discovered that a seven percent solution was all I needed to clear my mind and keep the boredom at bay.” Thrust. “ Victor was one of of the few in the city who consistently sold what I needed.” Thrust.

John wanted nothing more than to pay attention to what Sherlock was telling him but what he was doing to him was making him a bit fuzzy. After months together, the genius knew exactly how to play him to make him sing and he never held back when he got to it, once he got past his shyness for the session, that is.

“So what the hell--hah hah--are you doing--hah hah--right now?” he managed to gasp out.

“Yeah, what’s the deal, Siggy? Handcuffs? Staking a claim? Why not fight me like a real alpha?” Even in his current state, John still had the energy to roll his eyes.

“I don’t need to fight you like a ‘real alpha’. I don’t need to fight you at all. But yes, I am staking a claim. The handcuffs are so that you’ll stay and watch.” Sherlock finally let go of his hips only to reach down and, one leg at a time, draw them up to hook his thighs over the arms of the chair, exposing him completely to Victor’s wide, brown eyes.

“What the fuck, Sherlock?!” the omega cried, struggling against the iron grasp holding his legs open. And then his alpha began to fuck him in earnest, hard thrusts that had him seeing stars.

“Do you know he used to talk about you, John?” his mate whispered in his ear. Victor was watching them hungrily, eyes glued to where Sherlock’s cock was sliding almost out of him before sliding just as slowly back in. The angle was one they’d never tried and it felt more amazing than he possibly could have ever guessed, each slow press guided right to his prostate.

“He used to complain about how strong-willed you were. How stubborn. His ‘willful omega bitch’. I tend to delete most everything he says but that stayed. It interested me enough.” His response was delayed with an extra-hard thrust creating more stars behind his eyes.

“Did-- Did he now? I’m not-- I’m not sur-surprised,” he managed haltingly. “Vic never liked how-- how independent I was. Did you, Vic-tor?” John was starting to catch on now. It wasn’t that his alpha was staking a claim on him in front of the alpha that used to be his, it was that Sherlock was proving a point to someone who clearly thought that John still belonged to him. If that was the goal, then fine, he would help his mate put on a show, reinforce ‘correct’ ideas of ‘ownership’. And then once they were alone again, John would punish his alpha, thoroughly, for not just _asking him_. He’d been wanting to try orgasm denial on the man anyway.

“No I didn’t, Johnny,” the other alpha surprised him by answering. Now he was staring the omega right in the eyes, mouth open in pants as his hips thrust into the air. The smell of his arousal was getting stronger, pheromones blooming in the room. Sherlock’s body responded instinctually, his own pheromones exploding out to battle the other alpha’s. As John grew dizzy, caught in the middle of something that, biologically, made him want to do nothing other than drop to his knees and present, he began to babble. Not just any kind of babbling though. The filthiest things began to fall from his lips.

“Fuck me harder, Sherlock,” he commanded, grinding down on the cock inside him as best as he could, mewling when his alpha complied. Victor’s eyes left his, dropping back down to where Sherlock’s cock was fucking him silly. It must have been a sight. He told himself to buy a nice set of mirrors next time he went shopping so he could see what it looked like. “How do I look, Victor?” he asked, tilting his chin and dropping his head in a picture of omega coyness. “My cock is so hard right now it hurts. It must be leaking precome by now.” The alpha was absolutely panting as a pink tongue darted out to wet his lips. He began to struggle in earnest against the handcuffs, pheromones thickening as he did, Sherlock’s doing the same in response. John felt higher than the time he’d been doped up after being in that accident with mum, and he would later contribute that chemical flooding to what he was saying. Especially what he said next..

“Shame you’re stuck in that chair. I bet your mouth on my cock would feel _amazing_ ,” he teased wickedly. Victor was thrashing in his chair now, and the more he did, the harder and the faster Sherlock fucked him, the faster his orgasm approached. “Or maybe your tongue around my hole, cleaning the slick that’s leaking out from around Sherlock’s cock. Shame you can’t get over here and fuck me too. Can you imagine? Two alpha cocks, one sweet omega hole. Both of you knotting me at the same time? I would be absolutely _stuffed_ ,” he moaned.

He was too far gone on the scent of arousal from the two alphas battling for his favour with their pheromones to be surprised when Victor just grabbed the arms of his chair and picked it up as he stood, hobbling over to drop to his knees in front of where Sherlock was fucking into John almost violently now. Just as that dark head leaned forward, tongue extended, one pale foot lifted off the floor and planted on the dark shoulder, the contrasts of their skin like the full moon on the darkest winter’s night. Sherlock used the change in position to keep the other alpha at bay, growling as he shoved down on the shoulder beneath his foot to thrust firmly inside John and bite down on the mating mark he took every opportunity to renew. The omega came (untouched, as usual) with a scream at the dual sensations, pleasure flooding his body and pulsing out his cock, streams of ejaculate painting over the look of surprise on the kneeling alpha’s face in front of and below him. His passage throbbed around his mate’s cock as his alpha continued to fuck them both through their orgasms, milking Sherlock for all he was worth, which, as John started to come down from his high, might not be much for much longer.

As his heart began to settle, John realised exactly what it was he had been saying and what he’d practically invited his ex to do, and he flushed brightly. Slick and come was leaking out of him onto his chair and his mate was licking gently at the sore, freshened mark on his neck. Victor was still on his knees and panting, head pressed against the chair between John and Sherlock’s legs and the front of his trousers damp from his orgasm. Despite himself, the omega was a little impressed that the alpha had managed to come without any stimulation beyond that which his pants (if he wore any today) or his trousers gave him. As his breathing returned to normal, a cold fury began to swell. He had been so affected by their pheromones that he had almost incited his own rape.

“Sherlock,” he said softly. The tongue on his neck froze and the hands still holding his legs opened released them as beneath him, every muscle in his mate’s body seemed to tense. He didn’t hear it often, but the alpha knew that when John spoke in _that_ tone, he had fucked up. Royally.

“Bit not good?” he asked, voice as tentative as he’d ever heard it.

“Drop the ‘bit’,” he replied in the same tone.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered against his shoulder, fingers trembling against John’s waist. John had gathered far before now that the alpha had never had any real friends, had never had anyone who cared about _Sherlock_ (Mycroft didn’t count), and it made him painfully aware of how insecure his mate could be at times, like he was afraid of John getting tired of him and leaving. He could never do that to his mate, did everything he could to demolish those thoughts entirely, but at times like now, when he was as angry as he was, those fears clearly managed to return and no matter how good of an actor Sherlock was, he could never truly hide them from his expression or the way he would start to tremble. He sighed, his alpha’s fear putting a bit of a damper on his fury and helping him to remember that he was in part to blame as well.

“It’ll be fine, Sherlock,” he finally said. “But you are in trouble and we are going to talk. Let me up and let him out.”

“Yes, John.” The muscles of his inner pelvis and thigh felt a bit overstretched and his hole was a bit tender as his alpha’s clock slid out of him, as well as a rush of semen that had him wrinkling his nose. His pants and pyjama bottoms had slipped off one leg at some point and he stepped back in and yanked them up, hoping his pants would hold the worst of it until he could shower. Sherlock disappeared swiftly into the bedroom and John stared down at Victor, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Get up, Vic.” After a moment, the alpha did, tipping the chair back as he got off his knees and plopping into it. The stain on the front of his trousers was a bit large and the man gave a grimace as the fabric shifted, likely from either overstimulation or it had started to dry, neither of which was pleasant. “Did my mate’s unnecessarily unorthodox methods make anything stick?”

The alpha’s head snapped up and he received a glare of epic proportions. “I wasted three years of my life waiting for you to let me mate you!”

“And I wasted three years of my life on you!” John snapped back, old anger blooming.

“You wouldn’t even give me a heat!” The omega threw his arms up in the air. He couldn’t believe that more than two years later, this was still where the argument was headed.

“Damn right I didn’t give you a heat! You didn’t deserve to service me through one! I couldn’t even trust you in our daily lives, much less with a heat!”

“Oh, but you let him mate you after, what, a day?”

“Yeah, I did!”

“And pray tell why he got that honour?”

“Because I love him!” The sound of metal hitting the wood floor had the two, both flushed and breathing hard, snapping their heads up to find a stunned-looking Sherlock standing a few feet away, dressed in his usual lounge clothes with a set of keys on the floor at his feet. John frowned. “C’mon, Sherlock. He can’t leave until he gets out of those cuffs.”

“O-of course, John,” the alpha stuttered, expression clearing as he stooped down to grab the small metal ring, fumbling it and dropping it again several times. John’s frown deepened.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yes. Um, yes. Fine. Good.” The normally articulate and normally-graceful man babbled his way through finally picking the keys up and starting forward. John rewound what he’d said when yelling at Vic in his mind and one thing stuck out. Head cocking to the side, he said it again.

“I love you.” Cli-unk. And there went the keys to the floor again, that same stunned look back on Sherlock’s face. John called his mate ‘love’ often enough, but he’d never actually said The Phrase, and apparently the man hadn’t expected him to either say it, or to actually feel feelings strong enough where that phrase may actually be uttered. He took the few steps over to the detective and took the man’s face in his hands.

“I’ll let Vic out. Go wait in our room,” he instructed. Instead of arguing, as his mate was fond of doing even with the simplest and easiest of instruction, the man just nodded and turned away, pace slow as he disappeared into the room they shared. John looked after him for a moment then shook his head as he stooped down for the keys.

“You never smiled at me like that,” the alpha accused.

“You never made me want to smile like this,” John retorted just as sharply, releasing first one wrist and then the other. As soon as Victor was free, he jumped out of the chair like it had been spring-loaded, but instead of heading towards the front door, he began striding to the bedroom where Sherlock was waiting. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“That fucker challenged me and I’m accepting his challenge. His mating mark doesn’t mean shit if he can’t defend it.” John eyed the man critically. He was about mum’s size, and the omega had been smaller back then... In a limited few moves, the small man had the taller man on his back, gasping for breath. He didn’t give him a chance. Not for the first time was he glad they had wood floors as he curled his fingers in his ex’s coat collar and dragged him to the door. It was only after it opened did his luggage start to struggle.

“Oh no you don’t,” the omega growled, tugging hard and sending the alpha tumbling down the stairs. He fell to the landing in a heap and John stomped down the stairs after him. “I’d like you to know that Sherlock by no means needs me to fight my battles for him. With him, yeah. For him, no,” he informed the groaning man as he descended. “But I no longer have the time nor the patience to deal with you, Victor. I told you I never wanted to see you again the last time I saw you and that still stands. I don’t want you around my mate either, whether it’s for your drugs or anything else. I don’t care. Stay away from us.” John ended up crouched in front of Victor, voice calmed but expression stormy.

“Now, will you leave? Or do you need me to help you down the rest of the stairs?”

“He can fucking have you, you psychotic cunt!”

“So you do need my help?” Victor was out the front door in less than five seconds. Smiling, and in a bit of a better mood (handling his ex himself and then watching him flee like was delightfully therapeutic), John walked back up the stairs, locking the door to 221B after him.

When he walked into the bedroom, he found Sherlock sitting on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap and head down. When he closed their bedroom door after him, his alpha’s head snapped up, expression worried and tense and lost and John remembered that he was supposed to be angry at his mate. He also remembered the punishment he’d originally planned to give his mate for his minorly public display of claiming.

“Clothes, off,” he commanded as he began to strip himself. As his confused love followed his instructions, he walked over to the closet and dug out what he’d been hiding for a few weeks. When he stood with the ropes and the cock ring in hand and took in the surprised look on the detective’s face, he was pleased to find that his secret had remained a secret.

“On your back, centre of the bed.” Sherlock scrambled to comply and John walked slowly to the end of the bed to watch him get into position. “We have plenty to talk about, love. But first, I owe you a bit of a punishment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how badly I need art of the Victor Trevor scene; especially the foot-on-shoulder bit. uwu


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last reminder for the last chapter: still off-roading; no TBB-and-beyond occurrences in this storyverse.

John’s father was getting mated again and a rather firm John had told Sherlock that he was, in no uncertain terms, going to be present for the ceremony. The alpha had protested vehemently but despite all his best efforts, and apparent cooperation of Fatcroft and Lestrade with John, he could not get out of it and he was not going to get any cases if he didn’t stay all the way through. So while his mate got dressed, he was continuing his protest with some rather unpleasant screeching on his violin. Spitefully, he increased the volume as he heard John come down the stairs.

“Sherlock.” He kept playing. “I know you heard me. Come on. It’s time to go.” He kept going.

John had a lot of different sighs. There were ones that meant he was exhausted. There were ones he let out that were just short of moans. There were ones that meant he was annoyed with a request Sherlock had just made of him but would do it anyway. Then there were the ones that meant he was annoyed with Sherlock and was just about to lose his patience in a way that the alpha wasn’t going to be happy about. It was only when his mate let out the last one that he finally put the violin down and turned around. And almost dropped his violin.

He knew that omega had needed a suit for the ceremony and had gladly provided the money for it, but going and seeing him shop for one was definitely ‘Boring’ and so had most decidedly not accompanied him for the (tedious) process. He didn’t know John would get one bespoke. Somehow, seeing John standing by the front door in said bespoke suit, shifting nervously and tugging at the sleeve cuffs, was just as arousing as seeing him naked. Or seeing him dressed in just one of Sherlock’s shirts. The violin was deposited in his chair as he prowled forward.

“Sherlock, no.” He loved when his omega took control, loved when his omega topped him, but there were just as many times that he loved bending the man over the arm of the couch and fucking him silly because he looked so delectable.

They were only 45 minutes late. Sherlock wasn’t quite sated and John was a bit annoyed, but they’d still arrived before the ceremony started and that’s all that mattered (to John).

“Johnny!” The cry came from the side of the room and next thing he knew, his mate was being engulfed in an alpha female, and the only reason the alpha’s instincts weren’t set off was because she smelled related to John. He was sure the woman had been there when he’d first met his mate but the omega was the only one he’d had eyes for that day.

“Hot damn, Johnny, you hooked yourself a looker, didn’tcha? No wonder you never came home. I’ve been following your blog though. Did you really not know that the Earth goes around the sun?” Sherlock shot a deep scowl at John who flushed and ducked his head. He did not enjoy being mocked for a lack of knowledge he did not need, and though he’d long grown used to laughter from others, having it started by something John had written stung.

“Knowledge of the solar system has not ever been required in my work and as such, I have no need of it,” he replied stiffly. Against his hand he felt the brush of his mate’s skin, a questioning finger. He didn’t respond for a moment, trying to determine if any blame of this constant and annoying mockery was any fault of John’s. But as soon as the scent of his mate’s anxiety, low and unobtrusive, hit him, he was lifting his hand to curl it around John’s neck, the tip of one finger tracing the telltale bumps of his mark. John wasn’t anxious about much, but the fear of losing the detective’s interest nagged at him constantly, he knew. Blue eyes snapped up to him and his mate’s sister faded as he bent to press a kiss to the mark under his fingers.

“You’re mine until the end of time, John Hamish Watson,” he whispered. “I will never tire of you. Everyone else has and will bore me within seconds. Not you, my doctor. Never you.” Sherlock wasn’t one for sentimental outbursts often, but the few times he let them loose, they tended to tie John’s tongue and light up his cheeks. He stayed there for a moment, lips pressed to his mate’s scent gland, comforting him with his presence alone.

“I love you too.” Caught by surprise by the phrase, Sherlock froze. He was still unused to his omega’s utterance of that phrase and that he did freeze or stutter or stumble each time he heard it seemed to be no end of amusement for John who had apparently already walked away.

**.oOo.**

The ceremony was absolutely boring. Sherlock could only keep himself quiet or still for a few minutes at a time, unable to listen to John’s father and his new alpha during their ceremony. He tried contenting himself by whispering deductions about the other guests to John only to be shushed, or his leg would start to bounce and a warm hand would press firmly on his thigh. Any time John would stop him from either, he would shoot his mate a dirty look that clearly read ‘I’ll never forgive you for this.’

The second the ceremony was over, Sherlock was out of his seat and on a direct course towards the door that led to outside the building, ignoring the reproving look aimed at his back. It was a toss-up to whether John was more annoyed that he was going out to smoke or that he had been so ‘rude’ in leaving as quickly as he did. The cigarette he milked for as long as he possibly could before he headed back inside, sticking to the shadows as he scanned the now-dancing crowd for his mate. At last he spotted him over by refreshments table, deep in conversation with his sister. Hidden from the eyes of others behind a pillar, Sherlock took a moment to just watch the animated way his omega spoke to his sibling.

Every day with John in his life was better than the last. He never could have guessed much less observed that he could have someone like that, omega or otherwise. John called him ‘brilliant’ and ‘amazing’ and every possible variant. John accompanied him on cases, _enjoyed_ accompanying him on cases. John who wasn’t the most luminous of people but was the most brilliant conductor of light. John who _loved him_. He couldn’t have been more wrong when he thought that all he needed in his life was The Work and cocaine. What kind of half-life would he have known without John at his side?

Across the room, his omega’s sister was drawn away by her mate, leaving his alone with a drink in his hand, smiling softly as he watched them whirl away in a dance. John’s expression turned hopeful and contemplative as he watched them, and then he looked down at his hand. His left hand. The hand most mated couples put rings on the ring finger. Sherlock’s was bare, as was John’s. He hadn’t thought his mate wanted anything like that, but from the way the omega was looking at his hand now, it appeared he was wrong in the way he only really was with John. After a moment, John suddenly shook his head and snapped up, shoving his hand into his pocket, expression hardening. No... that was a wistful look. John did want a ring on his finger, he just didn’t think that that was something Sherlock wanted. The detective hadn’t thought his mate wanted a ceremony either, but that same looks of wist was spreading across John’s face as he watched the dancing couples before him. He loved John more than he loved anything, even The Work, and if a ring and a ceremony was something he wanted, then Sherlock would happily give it to him. But that would have to wait. Right now, he had an omega to sweep off his feet.

He kept to the absolute edge of the room as he approached John, plucking his drink out of his hand before he swept him onto the dance floor.

“Sherlock?” his mate exclaimed, startled but pleased.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, already starting the footwork.

“I think you already do,” John laughed as they began waltzing through the other couples enjoying the dance at a less energetic pace. By the time the song was over, his mate was breathless and flushed a pretty pink, smiling brightly up at him. Unable to help himself, Sherlock dipped down to devour that smile, cock hardening at the sound John made and at the way short fingers clutched at his jacket.

“I’d really like to leave now, John,” he whispered into the sensitive curve of his omega’s ear. John was biting his lip, trying to suppress a moan. His mate knew well how dissatisfied he was with what little sex they’d had before they’d left and he was determined to fuck John in his suit again before the night was out.

“Okay. We just have to say bye to dad and his alpha before we go. He wanted to meet you” All good cheer fled at that statement and Sherlock frowned, opening his mouth to point out he’d technically met the man already when he’d arrived at the hotel with John and his sister only to be stopped by a warm palm. “ _Officially_ meet you,” he corrected. “Your mother introducing herself months ago does not count. Plus, his alpha wants to meet you too.”

Sherlock spent the next twenty minutes deliberately misleading his mate as they searched for his father, hoping to tire out the omega so that they could just leave. Unfortunately, bright blue eyes managed to pick out the styled coif of the woman and he was forcibly dragged to the gift table by his determined mate.

“John!” the alpha (he hadn’t been paying attention to any bit of the ceremony and had missed the name exchange) cried out, pulling his mate into a hug that made him stiffen and then pressed a kiss to each tan cheek. As soon as he was released, Sherlock curled a possessive arm around his omega’s waist, ignoring the hard elbow in his ribs for it.

“Hello again. Janine, this is Sherlock,” he introduced, smile polite. Sherlock’s fingers tightened in annoyance. “My mate.” Satisfied, his fingers loosened again.

“Sherlock!” Janine cried out, hugging him suddenly on his unoccupied side, leaning up on her toes to press a kiss to both of his cheeks as well. The smell of alcohol on her breath was a bit strong and it was clear she’d already had several glasses of celebratory champagne. “It’s lovely to finally meet you. Jim and I have been following John’s blog for months.” Her accent was a strong Northern Irish that indicated she had not been in England for long and-- Sherlock forced himself to stop. If he deduced in his head, he would deduce aloud, and he suspected this was one deduction John would not praise. “Jim! John’s found Sherlock!” The small beta, just a little smaller than John, appeared with a drink in his hand and a smile on his face.

“Sherl! I’m so pleased you managed to wrangle him in, Johnny!” Sherlock stiffened at the nickname, jaw tightening. Deducing John’s father would go over less well than deducing his father’s new alpha. Before he could stop himself, he noticed the slightly less thick Irish accent of the small man and that neither of his children had adopted any part of it, indicating a higher presence of their mother than their father during the early years.

“Sherlock, this is my dad, Jim.” Having relaxed minutely after the hug from the alpha, he hadn’t expected to receive the same thing from the small beta, but a moment later, an arm was wrapping around him from his non-John side and he was stiffening in the second unwelcome embrace of the day.

“I’ve been reading so much about you, Sherlock Holmes,” the man said when he finally stepped away and into his own alpha’s embrace. The detective had the sudden desire to burn the suit he was wearing. Too many scents not belonging to his mate were on him now and that was not acceptable.

“Through John’s blog, I imagine,” he finally replied.

“Among other things,” the man agreed with a genial smile and nod. The detective frowned at the odd wording but had no time to contemplate it before he was drawn into conversation with the three of them, or rather, answering the questions of Jim and Janine.

**.oOo.**

“Oh, Johnny, Sherl, it’s been so wonderful getting the chance to talk to you,” the beta finally said a half hour later, indicating a much desired closing to the conversation. “I know how busy you must be all the time. I admit, I was a bit worried after what happened at the hotel but... I just wish Seb was still here. I know he wanted that match with Victor to work out but I think he might have liked your Sherlock much better.” A look of nostalgia crossed over the smaller man’s face, but it was the something else that caught the detective’s interest. Interesting.

“Seb?” Sherlock asked before he could help himself.

“Sebastian, my omega mate, Harriet and Johnny’s mother,” Jim elaborated. Having been subjected to conversation he had no care for or about for the last half hour, the alpha decided to sate his curiosity now.

“And you took his name when you mated?” John gave him a look and a minute shake of his head. No doubt he would much prefer these questions to be answered at home but Sherlock had plans for him once they got there. May as well get his answers now.

“Oh no. Seb took my name. Sebastian Moran one day, Sebastian Watson the next.” Sherlock nodded, mind already working ahead to what exactly he would do to his omega in punishment for this excursion. The orgasm denial John had subjected him to after the Victor Trevor incident had ended rather well, all things considered. Perhaps he should return his mate the favour.

“You know, now that I think about it, I think I might have zoned out during that part,” John confessed with a minor glare at Sherlock. He must have been attempting to share a deduction at that point in the ceremony. “Did Janine take your name too?”

“Oh no. Being a beta, it’s only right that I take her name. I gave a name last time, may as well take one this time,” the man laughed. “It’s Moriarty now. Janine and Jim Moriarty.”

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re screaming because you think that’s BBC canon Janine and BBC canon Moriarty, you may continue screaming: you are correct. And thus completes my second full-length feature fic for which there shall not be a sequel, because NOW we will resume the regularly scheduled program and The Blind Banker and future events my commence. And Reichenbach won't be Reichenfeels though because John will be able to feel the remaining presence of the bond. And they'll leave off together to go take down a web.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you thought, good or bad, in the Comments, and if bad, please be constructive so that I may better my writing! :3 Also, if you liked the story enough to want to promote/rec it on tumblr, instead of creating a new post, please reblog [my original post](http://themadkatter13fanfiction.tumblr.com/post/91733554608/in-formal)! Thank you so much! You are, of course, also more than welcome to follow me on tumblr as well! :3 Tschüß~


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